


Perfect Fit

by iamee



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Age Difference, Also Vibrations, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Barebacking, Crack Treated Seriously, First Time, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, Kissing, M/M, No Refractory Period, Resolved Sexual Tension, The Shirt made them do it, Unsafe Sex, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 19:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5754745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamee/pseuds/iamee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry wears a Flash shirt and Len approves. A lot. And for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Fit

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful **caylar**. I blame you 100% for how I fell for these two idiots. I love you.

**Perfect Fit**  
  
  
  


"What the hell are you wearing?" Len says and makes Barry look up from his book.

"Uh, not to be the person who answers a question with a question, but what are you doing in my living room?"

Len doesn't dignify that with an answer because it should be obvious to Barry Allen that the reason he's here is that he _wants_ to be. And the how is not nearly as interesting as the what that is surrounding Barry's body. Nearly as interesting as if he was surrounding it, coming to think of it.

"It's just a T-shirt, Snart. Get over it." Barry looks down at his book again, like he's not even in the least intimidated.

Len snorts and leans against the wall next to the door, fingertips pressing together: "And this is just a social visit."

Now it's Barry's turn to make a noise of disapproval and sit up further on the couch, book slipping into his lap and Len gets an entire eye-full of his red shirt. Oh he's so glad he stopped by.

"Do you really think it's a good idea to show up here? Are you missing prison or something?"

"Please," Len looks around the room in a way that could mean he's appreciating Joe West's taste in interior design or scanning for places where bugs could be placed quite nicely. "I'm a professional. I did my surveillance. I know daddy is at work."

Barry makes a face like he has a lot of thoughts on that comment, but settles for a quiet "Pick a part of that sentence that isn't creepy" as he gets up from the couch.

"In all seriousness, Scarlet: I wouldn't have taken you for one to blow their own trumpet."

Not like Len genuinely disapproves. The shirt fits loosely around Barry's chest and shoulders, still managing to leave little about the lines and planes of his stomach to imagination. It's very easy to imagine Barry sleeping in nothing but this, the softer parts of his thighs just so covered, the shirt slipping to reveal his shoulder when he moves on his side, lips parting for a drowsy smile. And here Len had limited his fantasies concerning Barry wearing his Flash logo to that damned suit. What a shame.

The bright red shirt with the lightning bolt looks even better now that Barry's starting to blush under his gaze, voice dropping a little further. Len is really starting to enjoy himself.

"The others thought it would be hilarious as a gift. Cisco just ordered the wrong size."

"Did Ramon now?" Len trails his eyes down and up again, meeting Barry's in what isn't even a subtle contact even if he's resisting licking his lips: "I disagree."

  
  
  


***

Barry isn't completely sure what he did today to stumble into some sort of freaky (yes they're all freaky but you get the idea) alternate universe that includes Captain Cold showing up at his house in the early evening to _flirt_ with him. The fact that he isn't in his usual getup but in a soft-looking grey shirt and black pants does little to distract from the way he's looking at Barry like he'd actually appreciate the view.  
The whole concept of it is so foreign, it makes Barry turn his head in an attempt to stifle a giggle.

"I'm glad I'm entertaining to you, kid."

"Sorry. It's just pretty funny, you know?" Barry turns his head again and how exactly did Snart get three steps closer without making a sound?

"Pretend I don't."

To say Cold is looking at him now would be an understatement. His gaze is positively burning through Barry's shirt and the skin underneath. There is probably a temperature pun somewhere in there, but thank God that's not his speciality.

"You being here and giving me bedroom eyes is funny."

Apparently neither is thinking before talking. Snart tilts his head and runs the back of his hand over the front of Barry's shirt, knuckles softly bumping against ribs and it should **not** make Barry's chest go tight with an abrupt and overwhelming want.

Len seems to notice, lips curling into a smile, his tone going even more annoyingly theatrical. Which Barry never found attractive either. Never. "Speaking of bedroom..."

Barry doesn't let him finish the sentence, has them zipped to his room before he can tell himself how much of a colossally bad idea this is. Quite possibly it can't be measured on a scale, if he's being honest. Snart stumbles only a little, catching himself with one hand on a bedpost and playing it off as intentional. Of course.

"A little warning would have been nice, kid."

"Can you stop calling me that when we're about to...?" Barry steps in, biting back a happy sound when Snart's other hand lands on his waist, obviously still needing a second to recover from the speed. He swallows when Snart looks at his own hand, then up at him.

"About to what?"

Barry can feel blood rising to his cheeks, his heartbeat a drum of mortification because did he seriously read this situation wrong? Cold will never let him live this down and he's not sure if moving town would be enough to get away from how he's feeling right now. Also he's got an inkling that Oliver might not necessarily want another addition to his team.

"I thought. I mean you were... and I was. And we _really_ were. Since always? Weren't we?!" 

The smile on Snart's face manages to be simultaneously punch- and kissworthy and since Barry can't quite decide which instinct to follow he leans his forehead against Snart's and takes a breath.

"You're just messing with me, aren't you?"

"Not yet." 

It sounds like a promise, a pretty filthy one with the way Snart's voice caresses the words just like his fingers are caressing Barry's side, curling into fabric and sliding against him with increasing insistence.

"Snart, listen."

"Call me Len."

And with that lips are pressed to Barry's, the angle awkward until he relaxes, allows Len to cup his cheek and tilt his head, their mouths suddenly aligned, warm and so incredibly _real_ and Barry makes a soft noise as he clutches Len's shoulders.  
They keep going like that for a while, adding and releasing pressure, learning the feeling of their lips on each other until Len parts his and catches Barry's bottom lip, the sensation of a short pull instant and hot, rushing to the base of Barry's neck and prickling out on his scalp.

"Len!" Barry gets out, his nails sinking into shoulder blades, his eyes opening to find intense blue studying him.

"Very good." Len says, making Barry want to punch him again and then possibly kiss some more. "I could even say you're quite the _quick_ study."

"Really? You want to do this now?"

Instead of answering, Len kisses him again, lips still parted and it's distracting enough for Barry to let himself be moved towards the bed and then on it, settling under Len and pulling him down to mouth at his neck.

"If you don't wear the parka, you don't get to make the puns." Barry mutters into Len's skin and feels the laugh working its way up Len's throat under his lips. Oh. Shit.

"Yeah, kid, show me who's in charge." Len sounds obscenely sure of himself, even with his cock hardening against Barry's thigh. It's a little infuriating and Barry speeds to reverse their positions, straddling Len's hips, grinning down at him.

He's rocking his hips a little, feeling both of them straining against the fabric of their pants. "That's what you had in mind?"

Len's eyes have darkened during the last few seconds, his fingertips cool when he slips them under the loose shirt and suddenly Barry feels he hasn't thanked his friends enough yet. But seriously, if he had known what kind of benefits this gift would include he'd have been a lot more enthusiastic about it.

"Oh I don't know, you seem plenty enthusiastic to me."

Of course he'd say that all out loud. Because the one thing Cold needs is a couple of strokes to his ego.

"You're thinking too much." Len decides, sitting up under him to tug at the waistband of his sweatpants and press an open-mouthed kiss through the shirt to Barry's nipple.

Lies! Barry isn't thinking at all, at least nothing particularly coherent, which is by complete coincidence also what's spilling over his lips while Len continues to – literally – get into his pants. His mouth is a scorching hot contrast to his fingers and Barry isn't beneath whimpering when the first gets in touch with his nipples again and the latter wrap around his cock, warming after a couple of strokes.

"Len _Len_ Len!" 

Barry half-expects another remark, isn't quite prepared for the growl-like sound that rumbles through Len's chest and ends in his mouth when their lips crush together again, the wet heat of a tongue keeping his mouth open and him from saying something he'd probably regret.

For example how good it feels, how he never wants Len to stop kissing him, touching him, his orgasm building fast already, a simmering thing at the base of his spine and in his guts, clenching his heart and his lungs until there is nothing but the feeling of falling apart. He's spilling over Len's hand and his boxers, arms slung around Len's neck so they can keep kissing even if it's nothing but moans he's brushing against Len's lips.

They're both just breathing for a second, noses nearly touching and then Len does something with his thumb that makes Barry's cock twitch and harden in his hand again like he hasn't literally just come. Which is something Barry has grown used to, but potentially needs some explaining with any other partner. Len just pulls back a fraction and sucks in air.

"That's one hell of a bonus, Scarlet."

"Oh God, shut up."

His face couldn't feel much hotter and he buries it at Len's shoulder, trying to push him off while simultaneously clinging to him, hips jerking when Len tightens his grip and Barry gets a laugh for his efforts.

"How you manage to fight crime if you have distractions like this is a miracle to me."

Barry groans into Len's shoulder and rolls off of him, not like his dick is bothered by the loss of contact at all, instead coming back around fully for round two. Life is so unfair.

"I'm doing a pretty good job at keeping you off the streets just now."

Len hums in what could be agreement or just a sign that he's lost interest in the conversation as he busies himself with tugging Barry's sweatpants and boxers off completely. 

"How many times do you usually manage?"

The sticky clothes are discarded on the floor and Len sits back on his heels to look him over, not helping Barry in any way to stop blushing and squirming under his gaze.

"Take off your shoes when you're on my bed and you might get a chance to find out."

For a moment Len looks like he's about to comment, but then he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and takes off his boots. And while he's on it the rest of his clothes, it seems, not like Barry has any issues with that except that he's getting harder and it's becoming increasingly difficult not to touch. So he stops that.

Len is warmer than he thought, a solid presence against his chest and then on top of him when he's pushed back down into the sheets, feet flexing to press into Len's thighs, get him closer in any way possible. It's enough for a bit, the way they rut against each other, skin getting slick and their mouths leaving marks on necks and shoulders and even if Barry can _feel_ one bruise healing as Len sucks the next into his skin it causes a ripple of pleasure in his bloodstream, the new need hungry and deep in his guts, leaving him breathless.

"Not to sound presumptuous, but where do you keep the lube, kid?"

"We really need to talk about you calling me that." Barry mumbles and then adds "bathroom", only to speed out from underneath Len and back, pushing the bottle into his hand and pretending he doesn't see him reading the label or clicking his tongue at 'water-resistant', voice going suggestive enough to make Barry blush to the roots of his hair. And he's certainly not entertaining any ideas about Captain Cold entertaining ideas about _him_ fingering himself in the shower. Because that would be crazy. And not hot at all.

While Len opens the bottle and spreads a generous amount over his fingers, Barry fumbles with his own shirt, trying to sit up under Len which proves difficult without the use of superpowers. 

"Keep it on." Len drawls, not even looking up and Barry swallows audibly.

"Seriously?"

"At least for now." With another methodical glance at his shiny fingers, Len places his clean hand on Barry's stomach where the shirt rides up. "I've warmed this up, since you have such an aversion to puns."

Barry closes his eyes and lets his head fall back into the pillows, letting his hand slide past Len's to touch himself with a groan that's equally frustration and need.

"I seriously can't believe I'm about to... to sleep with you."

"Tell me about it..."

At that Barry opens his eyes again, finding Len's gaze surprisingly less between his legs and more on his face, a frown on his forehead that contrasts the softness in his eyes and both are gone so quickly it seems like Barry's imagined it.

Len doesn't give him a chance to word a reaction, fingertips tracing Barry's rim, pressing inside at the first hint that Barry's body is yielding. Which is embarrassingly fast, his legs spreading, back arching just so to give Len a better angle. Hey, it's a trained response okay? Also he's been hard again for God knows how long and unlike Len he can't really see the point in not getting off because what kind of self-control bullshit is that anyways?

"Or _maybe_ I wanna enjoy the show while I'm on it."

Figures he'd say his thoughts out loud again, though in all fairness it's pretty hard not to get frustrated with the way Len slowly opens him up, adding finger after finger in time with Barry's breathing. If Barry didn't know any better he'd honestly think Len is enjoying every second of this, of making space for himself inside of him, the pads of his fingers stroking his walls until they push up against his prostate, sure as anything. 

"Fffu-ck Len come **on**!"

All it gets Barry is for the fingers to be pulled free from his body completely, his legs shaking. Barry draws a deep breath, reaches blindly for Len to pull him into a kiss. He does get one, but not where he expected it. And all he can do is curse and be grateful for his stupid body as he comes and hardens again on Len's tongue. Mostly he's just lying back, attempting to get his heartbeat back under control, letting Len lick him clean, which must be quite a bit of a mess now mixed with his release from before. And that is just a thought he wishes he hadn't had, his whole body burning with a colour to put his suit to shame. 

"Do you want to come in my mouth again or can we move on to the main event of the evening?"

There is a sudden and unexpected rush of pleasure coursing through Barry's body that comes with Len's words, his throat dry and his heart back to jackrabbiting. He manages to push himself up on his elbows, licking his lips when his eyes fall on Len's mouth, crooked into a very familiar smirk but shining with his come and (holy fuck) how is he even supposed to do their usual thing the next time, if he knows this look on him now?

Len seems to interpret the expression on his face correctly, if the way he pulls back ever so slightly is any indication at all. As if they'd need space between them to think clearly. Which probably holds more truth than Barry is comfortable with.

"If you wanna leave it at that--"

"I don't!" Barry blurts, sitting up to run his hands over Len's chest, eyes travelling too low, too long for a second and he jerks his head up again, not missing the light twitch of Len's mouth.

"How delightful. That makes two of us."

"Len, I swear to God if you don't do something right now--"

This time Len doesn't let him finish, pushing him down for the third time today, settling between Barry's legs and there is nothing separating them, nothing at all if you don't count the dumb shirt and Barry digs fingers into the side of Len's neck, mouth dropping open to say something he isn't quite sure about yet.

But Len shakes his head only once, making Barry close his mouth again, blood boiling in his veins. There's the pressure of Len's hand under him, on the small of his back, keeping him where he is while he takes himself in hand, lines up. Barry knows he should point out there isn't enough lube. Also the lack of condoms, but he can't find it in himself to fight off the little voice that's telling him that he'll feel just Len and that this is a spectacularly bad idea to begin with so what's another mistake on top of that?

At this point Barry's afraid that he wouldn't be able to say a single word as it is, not with how his body is thrumming in anticipation, Len's hips between his thighs and pure heat pressing into him, again and again until the head catches and Len lets out a sound that makes Barry's stomach drop with how ridiculously turned on he is.

They're working for it. Slow thrusts from Len and tiny movements of Barry's hips, breathing around the feeling of being filled so _completely_ , his hands clutching Len's biceps and his mouth open again. The burn of it is undeniable, as is the discomfort of the position, nearly folded in half when Len finally bottoms out and stills perfectly, his breath hot on Barry's throat.

"Barry." Len says and then he's kissing him.

It's like the slowness of it all has never existed, Barry's hands trying to touch everywhere at once, his legs hitching up to hook around Len's waist, pull him in deeper into the kiss and his body. And Len, fuck, Len is moving as if Barry could disappear at any second. His hand cradles Barry's tailbone, his hips snapping forward with every noise and somehow Barry thought Snart would be more quiet if it ever came to this, but finding out the opposite is true has him sobbing Len's name, his cock leaving a wet trail on Len's stomach and chest.

"Oh... my God." Barry moans in a clearer moment, being able to breathe for a heartbeat while Len pulls back a bit, slowing down his thrusts in favour of looking Barry over.

"You're so fucking tight." Len tells him in a voice that doesn't quite go with the fact that he looks like it's killing him.

"Am I supposed to r-respond to that?" Barry lets his eyelids flutter close and open again, a shudder going through him, letting him clench around Len and because the groan it results in is very nice he does it again. "I feel like 'm supposed to respond to that."

Len's laugh is breathy and it feels _really_ nice how Barry can sense the echo of it deep in his own body, that is until Len pulls out.  
Barry is quite proud he's never previously in his life whimpered out of sheer frustration. Well, there is a first time for everything.

"Come here." Len says, sitting back on the bed and Barry doesn't have to be told twice.

"Yeah, I would hate if you threw out your back."

"Cute."

He should hate how he has to bite his lip when he straddles Len's lap and sinks down on him again, just so he won't sigh in bliss. But there are a lot of things he should and shouldn't do and he's pretty much ignored all of them today.

"You're the one who _ohfuck_ always brings up age."

Len presses his smile to Barry's neck, hands guiding his hips until they're flush against each other again, starting up a new rhythm and then his hands slide up Barry's sides and to the hem of his shirt, pushing it up.

"Glad we could bury the hatchet for a moment, kid."

And of course he chooses that exact minute to thrust up into Barry, causing his head to tip back and a low moan to spill from his lips.

"That... that wasn't...because you just...called me..."

"Sure."

"Can we go back to not talking?"

Any attempt at an accompanying glare on Barry's part is futile the second Len's lips are on his own again, hot and demanding and matching the roll, twist, lifting and lowering of their hips. There are sounds now, slick and filthy and _intimate_ and if Barry had blood left in his body to blush with he would.  
Not to mention how it feels to have Len moving inside of him, fingertips cool on his nipples now, the shirt being tugged over his head and off, for a second he can't see, but then there is a tongue pressing into his mouth again, making him sling his arms around Len's neck to get closer.

Oh and it's better like this. Just skin on skin, Len's chest pressed against his own, sweat letting his thighs slip apart wider on the next thrust that seemingly goes right to his core. Before he knows it Barry's trembling, around Len, the motions growing into vibrations that he just can't seem to stop and he feels Len's growl under his ear more than he hears it.

"How are you...even real?"

Barry really would like to have a reply to that, but there's the unmistakable heat of another orgasm building inside of him now that Len's pushing into his prostate again and again, spurred on by the vibrations and his sounds. It's good, so good, beats doing this alone hands down even though he still wraps a vibrating hand around himself, needing to come while Len is still inside him.

The space between their stomachs is almost damp with the heat coming off their bodies, the sounds his hand on himself causes only adding to the level of noise in Barry's bedroom. He's beyond grateful to have the house to himself tonight. 

That is pretty much the last coherent thought he has before Len's movements grow erratic, the slapping of skin against slick skin kinda deafening in combination with the frantic beating of his heart and Barry can't do anything but hold on, head thrown back, letting Len set the pace he wants while he pushes them both closer to the edge. It doesn't take much longer like this, not with how Len sounds when he's fucking him, not with the feeling of burning up inside in the most beautiful way. His third orgasm rushes up from the point where they are connected, a sudden shock of pleasure that ends up coating his fingers and both their chests and by now Len has really made a mess of him, just like he promised.

Barry can make out some words through the afterglow, groaned into his neck, "Fuck" and "Barry" and "I'm gonna" and then Len pulls him close, breathing hard, whole body stilling for a second. Barry's not sure if he's just imagining the hot gush of come inside, but it makes him whimper at any rate, head dropping to rest against Len's shoulder.

It takes long seconds to come back around enough to shift a little, make a face against Len's skin to the feeling of come dripping out of him onto the sheets. 

Len's laugh is quiet, but genuine: "You were right, kid. This has been pretty fun."

Barry wrinkles his nose and drags a kiss over Len's collarbone: "If you wanna use my shower you should stop talking."

  
  
  


***

"What the fuck are you wearing?" Mick grunts from over at the fridge and Len gives him a sweet, wordless smile, legs moving from the kitchen table to give him a better look at the logo on Len's chest. "Changed my mind. The less I know about what made you so damn happy the better."

Len doesn't wait for Mick to make his way back out of the room before he types a quick reply to the text he's just received.

`It's not stealing if I intend to give it back, Barry.`

 

 

**The End**


End file.
